


Prince Charming Is Kind of an Asshole (The Stroke of Twelve Remix)

by A_Diamond



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Confessions, Consent Issues Due To Alcohol, Drunken Shenanigans, First Kiss, M/M, Pining, Secret Crush, no drunk sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-16 19:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14817768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond/pseuds/A_Diamond
Summary: Arthur tries to be a good man. The universe makes it very, very hard on him when the man he’s been in love with for years throws himself at Arthur for a night of drunken sex. He won’t take advantage, but Merlin doesn’t make it easy to say no.





	Prince Charming Is Kind of an Asshole (The Stroke of Twelve Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GeekLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekLover/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Cinderella Wasn't a Clotpole](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4908592) by [GeekLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekLover/pseuds/GeekLover). 



Arthur tried to be a good man.

It didn’t always work: he could be a bit of a bully, even (especially) to his friends; he rarely bothered with humility, because he was great at nearly everything and his cockiness hid the few things he worried about; he probably should have donated more to charity and not pretended he didn’t notice the bums outside his office quite so often. But when it really mattered, he believed in his ability to do the right thing.

Being a good man was very, very hard.

“Now I’m dressed to impress! Are you impressed, Arthur?” Merlin draped himself back against the doorway, and even knowing it was more about staying upright than being seductive didn’t stop Arthur from nearly being seduced.

He was seeing things he’d only dreamed of, a naked body he’d guiltily fantasized about for years. He needed a new imagination, because his had nothing that looked as good as the dark hair dusting across Merlin’s nipples and down his stomach or the sharp jut of Merlin’s hips framing his pretty dick. The things Arthur wanted to do to that dick. The things he wanted to do to that whole body.

Only that wasn’t all he wanted. He might have loved Merlin so much it hurt to know he’d never have him, but he would never use it to justify hurting Merlin. Merlin was too drunk to know what he was doing and Arthur had to be a good man.

Since he wasn’t a saint, he still looked his fill and hoped he hid his desire well enough behind a mask of amusement. Not that he really needed to worry about that, he thought wryly as Merlin stumbled around his kitchen. He was far too wasted to notice. So Arthur even let some of the fondness he usually kept in check slip into his voice as he chided, “Didn’t I put you to bed already?”

Merlin considered the question very seriously, then said, “Yes,” and nodded so vigorously he nearly fell over. Lunging forward, Arthur caught him just in time to stop his head from colliding with the corner of a cabinet. He thought about the fifty page report Monmouth had dropped on his desk instead of the long stretches of bare skin pressed against him, but his hands twitched on Merlin’s hips anyway.

It was a relief when Merlin took another dangerous step and snatched up Arthur’s red apron, fumbling it over his head with a sweet, stupid grin. He was still heartbreakingly gorgeous, the bright color bringing out the flush on his cheeks, but at least he was only mostly naked instead of completely. Just as Arthur was about to suggest getting him back upstairs, Merlin leaned in and slurred, “Sex makes me hungry. I want ice cream.”

Arthur had to bite the inside of his cheek as the word _sex_ flowed so easily from Merlin’s lips. He was making it even harder than usual not to jump him, and at a time when Arthur absolutely couldn’t give in to temptation. Being around Merlin at all would only weaken his resolve, so he decided to skip the convincing and just carry Merlin to bed.

When Merlin snuggled into his chest instead of protesting, he was as glad for the easy compliance as he was for the guiltless excuse to hold Merlin so intimately. Merlin’s floppiness disappeared as soon as Arthur laid him out and he surged up to grab him by the collar. Then Arthur was on the bed, too, more or less. Less on the bed, more on Merlin. Their bodies were so close together and the thin fabric of the apron didn’t offer much of a buffer; even through his jeans, he could feel those sharp hip bones pressing into him and was sure Merlin would be able to feel what Arthur had pressing back.

But Merlin’s attention was elsewhere, one arm flung out to grapple with the bedside table. As it took him a few tries to even find the drawer, Arthur was himself distracted enough from his predicament to ask, “What are you doing?”

Merlin didn’t answer right away. still fighting to wedge his fingers into the the small gap between the front of the drawer and the surrounding wood to scrabble it open. The handle was about an inch away from his thumb. But Arthur forgot all about that when Merlin stretched a little more, his body shifting all the way along Arthur’s, and the tip of his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.

Oh, the ideas Arthur had about that tongue.

He blamed those thoughts for how long it took him to pull away when Merlin located the box of condoms and declared they’d be needing them. Eventually he got himself together enough to remember why he needed to pry his body off Merlin’s. They definitely would not be doing anything that required condoms. Merlin was too drunk to know what he was doing—

Though not, apparently, too drunk to flip Arthur onto his back and climb atop him rather than let him twist out of Merlin’s grasp. He reconsidered as Merlin dumped the entire box of purple foil packets out over his chest; since Merlin was usually an uncoordinated mess, it almost made sense that his moment of surprising grace come from alcohol. Before Arthur could try again to extract himself, Merlin leaned so far down Arthur could almost taste his lips and rocked his very obvious erection into Arthur’s.

Biting his lip nearly bloody, Arthur salvaged the last of his conviction—he was a good man, he had to be—and pushed him away. “Merlin, you’re hammered. You don’t want me.”

“But I do, Arthur,” he said, so soft and sincere, not a trace of his giddy drunkenness left. “I really do. Please don’t make me beg, Arthur. I need you... I need you to fuck me.”

It was too much to take. Too much for him to withstand and come out the other side with his sanity. Arthur rolled, pushing himself out from under Merlin and sending the him sprawling on his back on the bed. But he hesitated, hands clenched around Merlin’s shoulders before he fled, and that was his downfall. In his moment of weakness, Merlin leaned up and kissed him: once, hard and fast; twice, gentle and slow, sweeping in with his tongue when Arthur’s lips parted on a gasp.

Arthur tried to be a good man, but he wasn’t a saint.

It wasn’t until Merlin had his zipper down and a hand halfway into his jeans that Arthur came to his senses. He’d lost his shirt, they’d been kissing for—he didn’t know how long, but Merlin’s lips were shiny and red and his felt the same. His lips, which tasted like tequila that he’d never drunk.

He rolled off Merlin, gathered his still-questing hands in his own, and let his breaths shake out of him as he composed himself. “Merlin, I want to be with you.”

The confession, three years in the making, made him feel more queasy than free. All Merlin had offered him was sex, drunken sex at that, and that didn’t really make it any easier than it had ever been to put his heart out there and risk losing Merlin’s friendship. He wasn’t sure he could survive the heartbreak if Merlin turned away from him because of his feelings, but he already feared the events of the night would push them apart and he’d have nothing of Merlin in his life anymore. That fear made him brave.

“I’m not going to risk our chance for something good on a drunken fuck. I won’t.” Shaking his head, he made himself meet Merlin’s eyes one last time to make sure Merlin knew he meant it. “You mean more to me than that.”

He shut the door firmly when he left, cutting himself off from his room and his bed and his dream within, and leaned against it for a moment of—not regret. He’d never be able to regret Merlin kissing him. But shame, still, for letting himself get carried away, for being so close to being the kind of asshole who took advantage of a drunk friend. And more shame for what he knew he was going to do as soon as he was downstairs on the couch.

It took barely any time, a dozen or so thrusts into his own fist—all the while wishing for it to be Merlin’s desperate fingers instead, or his hot and clever mouth, or, fuck, his perky ass stretched around Arthur like he’d been begging for. But even as the come cooled on his stomach and chest after that memory surpassed any of his previous fantasies, he knew he’d made the right choice.

He only hoped Merlin remembered in the morning; he didn’t think he could take having to go through it again.

**Author's Note:**

> This is something of a prequel to the original story, [Cinderella Wasn't a Clotpole](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4908592). Go check it out to see what happens next! (And because it's fantastic)


End file.
